


Qui Vivra Verra

by GeekyGirlfriends



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, HIV/AIDS, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Islamophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 20:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7771618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekyGirlfriends/pseuds/GeekyGirlfriends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picard is new to therapy, suffering from PTSD brought on by a recent traumatic experience. Q, on the other hand, is no stranger to psychiatric care at all, having suffered from Bipolar Disorder since he was a teenager. As such, Q helps to guide Jean-Luc through his struggles and, before long, Jean-Luc steps forward to care for Q during  a bout of depression.  </p><p>This is a hurt/comfort fic and there are a lot of rough and emotional parts in the main body of this work but it does have a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“So, what are you in for? I’d venture to guess depression since you look so glum.” Picard had not been expecting such a conversation to arise. Though, he was a rather new patient and quite new to therapy in general. He should not have formed any expectations about the therapy experience other than that it would relieve him of, or at least help him cope with, his mental illness. Jean-Luc thought for a few seconds while glancing in the direction of his inquisitor. The man had an open expression that seemed devoid of any ill-intent. If anything, the slightly swarthy man just appeared bored and was merely curious about his new waiting room acquaintance.

Jean-Luc figured he might as well get used to saying it so he more or less spat out, “I have PTSD . . . . And, I would think anyone would be ‘glum’ while dealing with a mental illness of any kind.”

The man softly chuckled. “Oh, you’ve obviously never been manic. Though, I admit, I’m about as gloomy as you look when I’m depressed – that’s just Bipolar Disorder for you.”

Picard was rather at a loss. He was _very new_ to being part of the mentally ill community at large. He did not want to be impolite so he tried to shift the conversation to something he had a better grasp on by saying, “I would imagine so. Ah, you sound American. Are you originally from there?”

The man acquired a cheeky grin, thumbed his nose, and then replied in a cheesy southern accent, “Yer darn tootin. I was born and raised in the wonderful U.S. of A. The home of guns, homophobes, and Christian values. I sure do wonder why I ever did left such a great place.” When Picard started to laugh at the man’s performance, he snapped his fingers, pointed at Picard. In his normal voice, the man said, “I knew I could make you laugh! You shouldn’t always be such a sour puss – it’ll give you wrinkles . . . _more_ wrinkles.”

Picard stopped laughing and flatly said, “I supposed you’re right.” He paused for a moment and then asked, “What’s your name?”

“Q.”

He incredulously stared at Q. “Just the letter Q? That’s your name?”

He smiled at Picard and shrugged, only offering, “What can I say? American customs are quite different when compared to French ones. Knowing this country your name is probably Jean-Baptiste-François de Gaulle or something.”

Picard could not help but snicker a bit at the name Q supplied before pointing out, “Well, you were right on one of those names. I’m Jean-Luc Picard.”

“And though I was wrong you still proved my point, Jean-Luc. Americans would scarcely give their children hyphenated first names,” Q countered, a sanctimonious grin smeared across his face.

Picard put a hand over his heart and mock-cried, “Oh, woe is me to have been hoist by my own petard!”

“Really? The Bard? Why not just quote a Freddie Mercury lyric if you want to allude to a British bisexual?” 

“There’s not a thing wrong with Shakespeare. His command of the English language is second to none. And, before you tell me I can’t comment on English because it isn’t my first language, the fact I can read the original Shakespearean lines should speak volumes about my comprehension of English.”

“You wound me. I would never. .  .” and his sentence fell by the wayside as he was distracted by a man opening the door between the waiting room and the therapy offices.

He was tall, very pale, had dark slicked back hair, and wire-rimmed glasses were resting on the bridge of his nose. He cleared his throat and said, “You can come in for your appointment now, Q.”

“Just a moment, Dr. Soong. It’d be rude to leave my new friend so abruptly.” He turned back toward Picard and said, “I hope you don’t look so melancholy the next time we meet. For now, au revoir Jean-Luc.”

With a small smile just barely tugging on the corners of his lips, Picard merely replied, “Au revoir, Q.”

Q smiled widely at Picard before turning to follow Dr. Soong to his office. Picard was glad to have met Q. He was quite a handful of a man but interesting nonetheless. Jean-Luc happily meditated their conversation until he too was called into an office by his own counselor.


	2. Chapter 2

Q fell back onto the sofa in Dr. Soong’s office as if it were a Victorian fainting couch and he was a smitten lady of the matching era. He closed his eyes and held his heart with both hands before whispering, “Oh, Data, I think I’m in love!”

Data already perched in his office chair with his notepad resting on his lap and a pen in his hand. He shot Q a rather bemused look and simply asked, “Who is it that you think you’re in love with? Have you met someone between now and last week?”

Q jerked his body up into a sitting position to stare down Data. In a shocked tone, he half-shouted, “You didn’t see him? You didn’t notice that lovely man with his beautiful hazel green eyes and wit for days?”

To all Qs dramatics, Data merely replied, “I see. You meant Counselor Troi’s new patient.”

“Yes! How could you ever overlook such a man? I’ll admit his hair (or lack thereof) leaves something to be desired but all the stuff in that big chrome dome more than makes up for the stuff on the outside. How could I _not_ fall in love with a man that can match me retort for retort?” He held out his open hands toward Data and shook them almost violently as if this should all be plainly obvious to his therapist.

“Q, he is not my patient and I do not regularly eavesdrop on the waiting room, nor do I ask other counselors about their patients. I knew close to nothing about this man before you spoke so avidly about him,” he reminded Q in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Well, then just take my word for it. He’s a marvelous and handsome man! Trust me, he is.”

“I do trust your summation of him but I would like you to consider the fact this is the first time you have met him and that people are not always how they first seem. You should be careful not to jump into anything too quickly.” Data pushed up the bridge of his glass to give Q a serious, almost parentally stern, look through the upper half of his glasses. People can be dangerous and Q already knew that.

Q’s face scrunched up in immediate disbelief and he waved his hand to dismiss the concept. “Jean-Luc is a good man. I can tell. Besides, he has PTSD so if anything he’s been abused in the past and would never think of hurting me.”

Data crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, getting comfortable to deliver more wisdom that sounded as if it was coming from a father rather than a therapist. “Or he could have gone to war. Domestic abuse _is_ the leading cause of PTSD but you do not know if that is what Jean-Luc faced. As well, just because someone was abused does not entirely bar them from becoming abusive themselves. Anyone is capable of any kind of behavior. I just want you to be cautious, Q. Maybe you are right but there is an equal chance you are wrong. In any case, it would be best to not jump on Jean-Luc the second you see him next. Strong advances may trigger him if his PTSD was caused by a sexual assault. Almost anything may trigger the man for all you know about him.”

Q thoughtfully gazed just past Data’s shoulder. Q hated to admit it but agreed, “You do have a point there, Data. I would hate to frighten him off. I’ll wait for him to make the first move but if he doesn’t make a move in the next two months I’ll make a move of my own.”

Data’s face become much more placid and much less like a projection of a stern, yet concerned, father figure. “I think that is a wise a choice, Q. Please keep in mind all that I am telling you as well. I do not want you to be alone in life. If anything a partner would help your mental health because having a support net is very important in times of crisis. I just think that too often you have leaped without looking and that hardly leads to much good,” Data ended his blurb of advice in a calm and soothing tone that would hopefully entreat Q into seriously considering all he was saying.

Q focused his gaze back onto Data’s face and he nodded a bit while saying, “I will, Data. I will.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of death, mentions of HIV/AIDS, mention of homophobic parents, and Q makes a joke about attempted suicide.

A few weeks after Q and Picard’s first encounter, Q sat in the waiting room yet again. He stared at the clock on the wall and kept picking at his own shirt trying to make sure it was as neat as possible and that he had not forgotten about some stain on that particular shirt. He always tried to look his best on Mondays now. He hoped to impress Picard with his look while they simultaneously engaging in a death-grapple of wits. Q folded his arms across his chest and then looked up at the clock on the wall. Picard was late. He was not late for his appointment but he was not on time when it came to the set schedule Picard always followed. Jean-Luc would always be there exactly fourteen minutes before five o’clock. He was always there at precisely 4:46 in the afternoon and yet it was now 4:50 and there was still no Picard to be seen. Q bit his lower lip and tapped his foot on the drab teal carpeting below him. Where could he be?

Just as Q had that thought for the twentieth time in all of four minutes, he heard the door to the waiting room open and would have immediately breathed a sigh of relief if it had not been for the look he saw on Jean-Luc’s face. Those hazel eyes that Q loved were cast downward and held nothing in them but an unfocused thousand yard stare. Picard did not say a word of greeting to Q and numbly sat down in the chair he always sat in.

Q was not entirely familiar with Picard’s mental troubles but he did know disassociation when he saw it. Something pretty bad must have happened to Jean-Luc so Q tread carefully. He looked over at Picard and called to him in a soft voice, “Jean-Luc? Are you okay? Jean-Luc?”

Picard almost looked like he had been broken from a trance at the second calling of his name. His head snapped up, he looked around, and eventually set his gaze on Q. He looked rather confused about his surroundings but merely asked, “What is it, Q?”

Just as softly as before Q asked, “Are you okay? You seem . . . out of it.”

Picard stared off into space, his gaze focusing and unfocusing. His eyebrows rose in a look of enlightenment and then knitted together in confusion. “Maybe.”

Q definitely preferred the overly wordy and Shakespeare worshiping Picard he had known up until this point. In a cautious voice, Q inquired, “Well, did something happen on your way here, Jean-Luc?”

A long silence passed between them until Jean-Luc merely said, “Yes. I suppose so.”

Q wanted to hold the poor man and hide him away and keep him safe from all the world’s atrocities. He would have gotten up and hugged Picard then and there if it had not been for a lack of knowledge when it comes to what might trigger Picard. Counselor Troi came out into the waiting room and, when she saw Q and Picard were not taking part in some heated banter, a look of slight concern colored her face. She proceeded with the appointment’s usual routine and called, “Jean-Luc, I’m ready to see you now.” Picard just nodded and walked past her through the door. Troi then broke with routine and told him, “Just go back to my office. I’ll be with you in one moment, Jean-Luc.” He just went on to her office like he did every week.

Taking this moment, Deanna walked over to where Q was sitting and asked, “He came in like that?”

“Yeah . . . I’m as worried as you are. Do you think he’ll even be able to get home alright after your session? Public transit isn’t that easy to navigate if you’re that out of it.” Q was bouncing his leg up and down again, nerves getting the better of him once more.

“Well, I’m not quite sure. He may be better in an hour from now or he may not. Can I ask a favor of you, Q?” She made eye contact with him, her expression deeply sincere.

“Of course.”

“Can you stick around for a while after your session with Data? If Jean-Luc isn’t much better by the end of our session it might be best if you helped him get home safely.” Her lips formed a thin line of subdued worry.

“I’d be happy to help. He’s the only real friend I have and I really wouldn’t mind sitting around for a while if it would end up doing him good.” His tone revealed just how heartfelt his statements were.

Troi nodded in agreement. “Thank you, Q.” She got up and went to her office to get a better handle on Picard’s situation.

Q just sat there while he waited for Data to get him. _Now_ he would certainly have a lot to talk to Dr. Soong about.

. . .

Q restlessly waited around for several long minutes after his session with Data had finished up. Q watched the clock again, knowing Picard should emerge through the door linking the waiting room and the offices at any moment. To Q it felt like forever and he almost wondered how he had not busted his leg down through the floor of the waiting room by now with how much he was nervously tapping his foot.

When the door finally opened only Picard came out into the waiting room and _that_ is when Q finally heaved a sigh of relief. Picard had a much more normal, albeit very melancholy, expression and Q wanted to sing at the mere sight of it. Picard walked closer to Q and said, “Uh, sorry about before. I know I didn’t quite have my feet planted on solid ground then.” He rubbed the back of his neck and scarcely looked Q in the eyes, so embarrassed to have been so weak in front of Q.

Q got up from his chair and said soothingly, “No, no, it’s fine, Jean-Luc. You couldn’t help but be like that then. There’s really no need to apologize. It happens to the best of us.”

He let out a small and almost nervous laugh. While mostly staring down at the ground he conceded, “Yes, I suppose you’re right about that. You just always seem so capable and in control.”

“In control? I wish. Look at me, Jean-Luc.” He waited for his companion to properly look up at him before reasoning with him, “I seem in control because you’ve known me for only a few weeks and you only see me for about fourteen minutes each week. For all you know last Wednesday I could have attempted to fling myself off the top of the Eiffel Tower. Besides, I’ve been dealing with my condition since I was a teenager and I’m on medicine right now to help me cope too. Not even to mention I have a vastly different mental illness. Sure, comorbidity is a thing and you may very well have a touch of depression, but your main problem doesn’t have a thing to do with mood. You have an anxiety disorder, Jean-Luc. PTSD is entirely different to either mania or depression or any mix of them. Don’t compare yourself to me and don’t compare yourself to anyone. Everyone gets better at their own pace and is an entirely unique case. Trust me.” His deep brown eyes held a look of sheer compassion and caring if not a little bit of concern too as he stared down into those hazy green windows to Jean-Luc’s soul.

Picard looked down and sighed, shaking his head at himself. “Yet again you’re right and I feel like such a fool.”

“Don’t feel like a fool – you aren’t one. You just haven’t gotten the hang of being bonkers yet.” Q smiled down at Picard, hoping to coax some small glimmer of happiness out of the man.

Picard handed Q a very weak and small smile out of sheer politeness’s sake. He shuffled his feet and asked, “Would you mind accompanying me to my apartment? I know the agreement you made with Counselor Troi was under the pretense I would still be out of it by the end of our session but it would make me feel safer to travel with another person. That is, if it’s all right with you, of course.”

“I’d be happy to go home with you, Jean-Luc. All the more time I get to spend with you means all the more opportunities I have to get your goat.” He smirked mischievously with a glint in his eye that spoke of playful sincerity.

Picard, still not in much of a joking mood, merely said, “Quite. I suppose we should get going then.”

“Lead and I will follow.”

. . .

It was not until they had walked for a few minutes through the streets of Paris, among the numerous Parisians and tourists alike, that Picard started to drift back towards Q’s side. For some time they easily conversed about one small subject or another with Picard paying very little attention to any of their words but paying boundless amounts of attention to all the people passing them on the street. Picard was one step away from looking like a caged animal ready to bite the next person that came anywhere near him when he started to hold onto Q’s arm for dear life.

They kept up their pace and Q did not care to say much about how Picard’s death grip on his bicep would most likely leave a bruise. However, Q did break their mild-mannered conversation to quietly ask, “You okay, Jean-Luc?”

“I’m fine. I just . . . need to get home.”

“Do you think a taxi might be faster than the train? I’d be willing to split the bill with you if it's money you’re concerned about.” While Q rather liked the idea of Jean-Luc and himself strolling arm in arm through the streets of Paris at night, this was not quite the scene from his imagination.

Picard stopped and thought for a moment before flatly saying, “You're right. Could you hail a cab?”

“Your wish is my command.”

. . .

After reaching the safety of a taxi’s backseat, Picard relaxed significantly. He still had a tight hold on Qs arm but it was no longer so constricting Q feared amputation. After a few minutes of silence Picard tried to scrape the guilt off of his conscience with, “I’m sorry. I must be such a bother for you. I mean, getting so worried over nothing and then making you jump through hoops and now you’re spending money on a cab and you hardly even know me. It all must seem like such an annoying nuisance to you.”

“Jean-Luc, it’s really quite all right. I don’t mind doing these things for you because even though we don’t know one another very well I still count you as a friend and what are friends for if not a little help now and then? If it makes you feel any better, years ago I was so manic I decided to pick up my entire life and move here. I literally just got a plane ticket and didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t even pack all my things or close out my lease. I just left. How much of an annoying nuisance do you think that was for anyone I knew back in the states?”

“I thought you didn’t want me to compare myself to you?” His expression was tired but a singular eyebrow lifted toward his nonexistent hair showed that Picard was pulling Q’s leg.

A cheeky smile cracked open on Q’s face and he confirmed, “I did.”

Picard let out a weak laugh half to himself and then more seriously approached what Q said, asking, “Why didn’t you leave France, though? Surely you had debts to settle back in the states and eventually your visa would need to be renewed. Surely the people that cared about you must have been worried.”

“Ah, you misunderstand me, Jean-Luc.”

“What do you mean?”

“No one in America _cared_ for me, Jean-Luc. People _knew_ me but there was no one left who actually _cared_ about me. My family had shunned me when I shoved myself out of the closet. Nearly all those I had known in any close capacity were dead or dying and I was ‘too high maintenance’ for those who had yet to _shuffle off this mortal coil_ , as you might say. Surely you must have known men that died of AIDS. Or are you one of those gay men who denied his identity almost his entire lifetime? Either way, _I_ had no reason or will to stay in America anymore and I frankly hated the county to begin with.” Q would have crossed his arms to bring a dramatic finality to his declaration but, with Picard still holding onto his arm, Q didn't want to make any motions that Picard might interpret as coldness directed toward him.

Picard was somewhat at a loss but, after a moment of thought, he knew the right course of action. He tightened his grip a bit on Qs arm and said, “I’m sorry for your losses, Q. And, no, I never denied my identity. I suppose the epidemic just didn’t hit me nearly as hard because I was in the navy at the time and most of the gay men I knew were also in the navy and, well, it’s rather hard to get something you didn’t bring on the ship with you to begin with. But, you know what Q?” Picard expectantly looked up at Q, a minuscule smile playing on his lips.

“What?”

“At least now you have one person that cares about you, Q.” The hand Jean-Luc had been using to keep ahold of Q’s arm migrated down to wrap around the other man’s hand.

Some tension that had been knitted together with sorrow and loneliness unwound out of Q’s body. He was extremely touched by Picard’s gesture and it played plainly on his face, an innocent and pure joy making Q shine as bright as every star in the universe combined. He looked into Picard’s eyes to say in a tone crimped with devotion, “That’s so kind of you, Jean-Luc. I care about you too.”

Jean-Luc could hardly handle how much a few words had affected this man. He had never seen Q so unabashedly happy and, though that was not much of a statement considering he had not seen much of Q in general, the amount of sheer light Q radiated wholly surprised him. He did not think that he had ever seen anyone so extremely glad in his entire life. The sheer force of this man’s happiness made Picard break into an ear to ear grin in spite of the strife he had faced earlier in the day. “Joy really suits you, Q.”

Somehow Q managed to smile even wider than he had been before and happily countered, “It suits you too.”

Picard chuckled and playfully batted Q’s arm. “Oh, quit it. We’re too old to sound like school children playing at love.”

“Well, you’re only as old as you feel, Jean-Luc. Right now . . . I’d say I feel about 14 again.” And then Q sang, slightly off-key, “You make me feel so young. You make me feel so spring has sprung. And every time I see you grin I’m such a happy individual. The moment that you-”

Picard put a finger against Qs mouth to hopefully quite the man’s song. “I do admire your singing but I feel rather embarrassed by you performing for me so . . . publicly and, if you keep embarrassing me, I may not want to invite you into my apartment for tea.”

Jean-Luc pulled his finger away from Q’s face and Q immediately said, “But getting your goat is my specialty, Jean-Luc. How am I ever to hone my craft if you so disapprove of it?”

“In more creative ways than serenading me in a taxi.”

“Touché.”

. . .

When they finally arrived at Jean-Luc’s apartment, Q could not help but stop dead in his tracks half-way in the door and half-way out. All over the apartment, on shelves, tables, and even hooked onto the walls there were pieces of other civilizations. Small pieces of Mediterranean pottery on one shelf, African masks hanging on a wall, what seemed to be a Persian rug hanging on another wall, a flute from South America in a special case, and a bookcase full of what looked like ancient tomes. Picard, who was putting away his coat and shoes out of sheer force of habit, turned back to Q and had to laugh at the stunned expression on his face. “Maybe if you come all the way through the door you can spend less time standing there to let in a breeze and more time actually hearing the stories behind my decor. Or do you enjoy your ass being stuck out in the hallway for the public to admire?”

Q unfroze himself, lest he be subjected to more of Picard’s cutting wit. He closed the door behind him and hung his jacket next to where Jean-Luc had put his own. While slipping out of his shoes Q replied, “Well, I wasn’t aware my ass was so admirable but if you insist, Jean-Luc.”

Picard rolled his eyes at the innuendo. “Putting matters concerning your ass aside, you’re obviously wondering how I came to possess so many artifacts. Simply put, studying other cultures has always been my passion. Before I joined the navy I had gotten a degree in archeology and anthropology so when my ship would stop at one port or another I made an effort to find out if there was any archeological dig taking place nearby. Of course, it is unethical to take precious pieces of civilization that may hold the keys to unlocking the mysteries of our history, and that’s why all the things you see here have already been cataloged for the general world’s greater knowledge. As well, they’re available for others to study at any time provided that I’m contacted with such a request. And, frankly, nothing I have here is actually so terribly old or precious. All of these things are really quite common aside from my antique book collection that I’ve bought out of my own pocket. Oh, and some of the things I just bought here or there at different ports. For instance, in the other room, there’s a wall scroll with kanji writing on it that I bought at a market in Japan.”

Still looking around, staring at one piece of history or another, Q commented, “You never cease to amaze me, Jean-Luc. I only wish fortune had allowed me to travel the world as you have.”

Jean-Luc walked into the kitchen and Q followed choosing to sit down at a small table against the wall while Jean-Luc busied himself. As Picard filled up a kettle and put it on the stove to boil he spoke almost as if daydreaming aloud, “Well, perhaps that will change. I am getting older and I may need an assistant on whatever expedition I choose to go on next . . .” Picard leaned back against the kitchen counter and suggestively glanced at Q but then looked down having remembered a few unpleasant facts about his life. “That is, the next expedition I _can_ go on considering how fragile my mental health is at the moment. I can’t even walk through the streets of a city I know without having a near melt-down.” He sighed.

From where he sat Q tried to gaze into Picard’s downcast eyes to no avail. “Jean-Luc, perhaps you aren’t where you’d like to be right now but that’s no reason to chastise yourself. You’ve only been going to therapy for a few weeks and it takes time to heal. You could be back at running through temples of doom or finding the lost ark or something in a few months from now for all you know. Maybe a success like walking through Paris on your own isn’t as glamorous as going off and discovering what is quite literally buried treasure, but no one runs before they can walk. You have to take baby steps. Slowly but surely you will recover and then maybe we can go on some adventure.”

“But I could run before. I could do so many things before. I was strong before. I was brave before. I know Rome wasn’t built in a day but it didn’t take one night to tear it all down either!” In frustration, Picard closed his eyes and banged a fist on countertop behind him. In a small and helpless voice, he said, “It’s not fair, Q.”

“ _Life_ isn’t fair, Jean-Luc. It’s not an easy thing to accept but the fact is that yes, you could do those things in the past, but life screwed you over and now you just have to deal with it. You can rightly say this isn’t fair all you want but that won’t help you in the long run. It’s hard, but you have to try to get back on your feet and deal with your problems instead of simply wishing things were different. Be proud of what you can still do and all the small victories to come. Instead of sulking about what you can’t do try to appreciate all that you can do and everything you can manage in spite of fear. You’re an amazing man and I’m sure you’ll heal in due time. For the moment just stop holding yourself to the standard of someone who’s sane and what they can do – it’s like apples and oranges, Jean-Luc. Why else would there be such a stigma against us? Sane people don’t understand us because they don’t think like us by default.” Picard stood there, still looking down at the ground, contemplating and internalizing Q’s words. When the kettle started to whistle Q jumped up saying, “I’ll get it!” Picard silently got out two mugs and put tea bags in them as Q took the kettle off the burner and held it, waiting for Jean-Luc to move so he could pour the water.

After several long minutes of silence and steeping tea, they sat down at the table Q had been at originally. Q was unsure of the silence between them so he made no comment on the fact Picard had somehow known he liked chi tea. Picard sipped his Earl Grey and stared at the table top somewhat vacantly. Out of nowhere, he said, “You’re right.” Q stared at him in light of this breaking of silence. “Bemoaning my fate will never help me and I will heal eventually. I’ll learn to move past that night and I’ll learn to live my life freely again. I won’t let myself fall into a dull and self-pitying life without a fight. I won’t.” He looked up to meet Q’s gaze. “Will you promise to help keep me on track? Stop me from fearfully closing myself off from the rest of the world?”

Q glowed just as brightly as before, so touched Picard would ask this of him. If he was any happier he would be crying and that shone through in glisten in his eyes and the slight wobble his words had as he assured, “I’d be honored to.”

“Oh, don’t cry, Q.” Picard reached across the table and held Q’s hand as he had before.

“I’m sorry.” He wiped at tears that had yet to overflow and clarified, “It’s just been so long since anyone has treated me so well. I doubt you have any clue what it’s like to be so alone and unmoored for years among a city of millions. When I came here, I wanted a new start. I wanted to find people who didn’t think I was ‘too high maintenance.’ I wanted to find people who truly cared. And I couldn’t. Then you show up and . . . it’s so effortless – it’s like dancing. You lead and I follow and neither of us is bumbling about stepping on each other’s feet because we have the same song in our hearts to guide us.” Q did not dare look up at Picard. He was so scared that at this moment he would find rejection in Picard’s deep nebula-like eyes.

Jean-Luc tightened his grip on Q’s hand and asked in a tone lighter than the air around them, “Has anyone ever told you how beautifully poetic you are?”

Q chanced a glance up into Picard’s eyes and found nothing but warmth there. “No. No one has ever said that to me before.”

“I think you should take up writing poetry. I think you’d do wonderfully.”

“I did used to dabble in writing when I was younger. But, do you think I have even a slight chance at being better than your favorite Bard?”

“Well, I don’t know about that. You’ll just have to write me something and we’ll see.”

“I will.” Q beamed at Picard, knowing exactly what he would need to do once he got home that night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of rape, mentions of islamaphobia, and mentions of homophobia.

A week later they were once again in Picard’s small kitchen after another round of therapy had been dealt out. Q stood in the center of the kitchen while Picard sat at the table, nursing a cup of Earl Grey just as he would any other night. Q cleared his throat and, without the aid of any paper, began to recite:

In the dark you can only hope for light,

The darkness brings loneliness by default;

others may be close, but you have no sight.

You feel, you listen, step forward then - halt!

In the distance is a tiny faint glow,

something so easy to miss but, it's there.

You aim for it and run, and run, then slow.

No closer than before, you sit, and stare.

Worries and strife cloud your mind as you ask,

“How will I ever reach that distant star?”

You mumble, you muse, and think of the past.

And then you walk on, no matter how far.

Hope in the dark is the only way out,

or be depressed and die due to your doubt.

Q took a deep bow and Picard clapped loudly, half-shouting, “Bravo! Bravo!”

He smiled in the face of Picard’s admiration. “As you could probably tell that was in the style of your favorite Bard who I hope to win you from before he finds out about our secret poetry meetings.” Q exaggeratedly winked at his companion and Picard waved off his tomfoolery. “Regardless, I have a second poem to read for you. This one is not in such a rigid structure as the last so I hope you can find it in your heart to cheer for it as well.”

“I’m sure it will be just as good as the first one if not better.” Picard leaned forward, balancing himself with an elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. A droll smile tugged on his mouth as he intently listened and waited for Q’s next performance.

Q could not help but smirk at the cloyingly happy expression Jean-Luc wore. Q stood up as tall as he could and closed his eyes to focus on drawing the right words out of his mind as he began to recite his next piece:

What do we see?

What’s in our hearts?

Love at first sight?

What love is that?

 

True love is neither

one sight or moment.

It’s not one person,

and never one heart.

 

It’s an experience!

It’s an understanding!

It’s hands twined together

and eyes that always meet.

 

It’s dancing without music,

and somehow not breaking toes.

In our hearts we know the beat,

so we always knew these steps.

 

Lives converge for love to follow.

Noiseless waltz with steps always true.

Chests once so lonely and hollow,

now have the beat in me and you.

 

Hearts beat in all of humanity

We cast our eyes up to the stars and see

how much more than the sum of our parts we’ll be.

Going out into this world you’ll be safe with me.

Q took an even deeper bow than before, his head only about a foot from the floor, and Picard clapped as he had before. Somehow, to Q, the clapping sounded much less enthusiastic than before – almost like hollow praise. When Q rose from his bow he smiled down at Jean-Luc but his happy expression quickly melted away. “Oh, Jean-Luc . . . was it something I said?”

“No, no, it’s not you. It’s nothing you said, just, sit down Q. I need to tell you something.” Q sat down across from Picard as he had been asked to and stared at his companion who was wearing a positively melancholy expression. Jean-Luc stared back at Q, ominous green and brown storm clouds moving into those eyes. “Q .  . .” he looked away and then continued, “I can’t give you what you want. I can’t be in any kind of romantic entanglement with you.”

“Wait, why? What’s wrong?” Q had tried to restrain the helpless tenor of his voice but his fear still broke through in parts, the suddenness of everything somewhat overwhelming him.

Picard forced himself to meet those coffee colored eyes. “Oh, Q, _please_ don’t blame this on yourself before I’ve been able to explain myself. You’re a handsome and intelligent man. At any other time in my life, our first meeting alone would have made me jump into bed with you. But now, after . . . I just . . .” His eyes strayed from Q’s. His face beyond strained and his entire body looking as tense as humanly possible.

Q thought on Picard’s words and all their interactions and a sudden look of eureka colored his face. “You mean your PTSD, right? You were abused in the past and now this,” he gestured between the two of them, “scares you?”

“Yes . . . and no. This isn’t the part that scares me. I mean, hell, I was the one that started this. I held your arm, I held your hand, I said I cared, and I told you to write for me. I never meant to lead you on but, sitting here having tea and a poetry session with you, it hardly frightens me.” His voice started to get shaky, losing its balance even more so with each word as he finally got out, “Q, I was . . . they raped me. I, it was _brutal_ and . . . and, I don’t know if _you_ want to _deal_ with that. If only I could have stopped them . . . . I should have been _stronger._ ” At that last word Picard unraveled entirely and he threw his head into his hands, trying to at least hide sobs he could not hold back any longer.

“Oh, Jean-Luc, I had no idea. But, it’s okay, Jean-Luc. I don’t give a shit you don’t want to jump on me right this second. What even is sex in comparison to an emotional bond anyway? Please, just try to calm down, mon chéri. It’s okay.” He tried to get Jean-Luc to look at him by gently tugging on one of the hands covering his face. Q failed at getting Picard to look at him but settled for holding one of his hands. Jean-Luc squeezed the living daylights out of Q’s hand but Q kept up a calm and even tone as he assured, “It’s okay, Jean-Luc. Just try to breathe deeply. [Ça va. Vous êtes en sécurité ici. Je promets que ce sera ok. Oui, respirer profondément, juste comme ça.](It's%20okay.%20You're%20safe%20here.%20I%20promise%20it%20will%20be%20okay.%20Yes,%20breathe%20deeply,%20just%20like%20that.)” Q rubbed the back of Jean-Luc’s hand, just wanting to help him calm down and center himself. To hell with stupid romance. Picard hardly needed that, he just needed someone to be there for him right then and there.

Picard ever so slowly started to settle down as Q continued to reassure him. After a while he just laid his head down on the table, using an arm for a pillow. He heaved a great sigh and closed his eyes, totally exhausted from panic. After a minute or two Picard lazily turned his head to the side so that Q could hear him listlessly say, “You speak French very well.”

Q sputtered with laughter for a brief moment. Jean-Luc just finished balling his eyes out and the first thing he has to say is that Q speaks nicely? Still, Q quickly contained his knee-jerk reaction to such absurdity and managed to say in a softly soothing tone, “Well, I’m honored, Jean-Luc. Merci. But, how are you feeling? Is there anything I can do for you? I mean, I doubt you would have panicked so much had it not been for me. I’d be willing to do anything to make you feel better, Jean-Luc. Your wish is my command.”

“I suppose I’m alright now. I almost wish you hadn’t seen me like that . . . like this.” He sighed. “But I’m also too tired to care as much as I probably should. Either way, you don’t have to do anything for me, Q. This wasn’t your fault. I must have some fit like this at least twice a week if not more often. The only thing I really need right now is a glass of water if you want to get it for me.”

“As I said, your wish is my command.” Q let go of Picard’s hand and quickly got up to get the aforementioned glass of water. Meanwhile, Picard sat up in his chair and scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. He stared blankly as the surface of the table. “Here, one glass of water with your name on it.” Q put the glass down in front of Picard and he quickly gulped it down.

Once Jean-Luc was finished with the water he set the empty glass down and, feeling marginally restored, looked up at Q who had settled back down in the chair across from him. “You meant it when you said you didn’t care before? You really don’t mind a limited physical aspect to our relationship and weren’t just saying that to make me feel better?”

Q’s eyebrows knitted together in strained sincerity. “Of course, I meant it, Jean-Luc. I tell you that I’m tremendously happy that you care deeply about me and you think my main concern is sex? I will admit that some of my more flirtatious remarks have been laced with innuendo but that hardly means I don’t care about you beyond the realm of sex. You’re an amazing man, Jean-Luc.”

Picard sighed and shook his head at himself. “Well, now I rightly feel quite the fool. I should have thought the situation through before reacting . . . _over_ reacting. I suppose I just fixate so much on that one aspect of my life that I feel all the lesser and more damaged for it.”

“There’s no need to feel foolish. I know what you mean all too well. It’s another example of how people often tend to internalize the stigma against mental illness.” Q had pure compassion in his big brown puppy dog eyes as he took Picard’s hand yet again.

“Yes, that is true . . .” Picard solidly met Q’s eyes again. “If we’re going to proceed I feel that I should let you know some more things about myself. What happened to me is why I quit the navy. The men who . . . they were my superiors. They knew I was gay. What happened was invariably a hate crime. If they had been lesser officers I may have been able to make a case but, well, you know how it works. Now, as far as triggers are concerned, you can touch me but, if you lay a hand on my ass, I will not hesitate to kick _your_ ass out the window. The day you saw me disassociate I had been groped while standing on the train. And, since they’re related to what happened, just try not to bring up the navy or say the phrase ‘I love a man in uniform’ and the like. I’m probably forgetting some other thing but those are the main things that really bother me. Just try to keep those in mind, okay?”

Q nodded. “Okay. I’ll try my best to not do those things.”

“Good, now let’s just move on and never talk about _that night_ or anything in relation to it again unless there’s some dire need to.”

“Of course, Jean-Luc. Whatever will make you most comfortable.” Q thought for a moment and grasped, “Is there anything you’d like to do now? I’m still willing to do anything that would help you feel even marginally better.”

He was about to deny Q’s offer once more but was suddenly struck by an idea and merely said, “Actually, yes. There is something you can do.”

. . .

As per his request, Q had laid down in bed with Picard. Q lay on his back, one arm wrapped around Jean-Luc’s shoulders, whereas Jean-Luc was nestled into Q’s side with his head resting over the younger man’s heart. Picard had not cuddled with someone like this in years and he was thoroughly relaxed by the steady beating of Q’s heart. It felt nice to be held. It felt nice to have another body warm the bed. It almost seemed like Q radiated pure warmth in spite of there being a few layers of clothing insulating both of them. Picard was entirely relaxed. Random scraps of thoughts floated through his mind until he caught something he had been meaning to bring up. “Q, can I ask you a question?”

Q chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest. “Well, you’ve already asked one so why not shoot for another? Go ahead, mon chéri.”

“I hope I’m not overstepping my bounds but, what _is_ your real name? Even if your parents only gave you an initial for a first name you surely have a more substantial surname.”

Q’s fingers drew little circles in what bit of hair Picard had as he thought over the request. “Well, you’re not wrong. Although, I’m not sure if you’d believe me when I tell you what my last name is.”

“Try me. I need to know what name to put on the wedding invitations.”

“You know, I wish you meant that even though we shouldn’t get hitched so soon anyway. Regardless, it’s  . . . Smith.” Q continued to absent-mindedly trace circles into his partner’s scalp.

“Why must you always lie? I’ll find out your real name eventually anyway. Why must you be so secretive?”

“Ah! You see? I told you that you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Q . . .”

“Alright, I know. Not what you want to hear right now and I could make another joke about how I can’t give a ‘straight’ answer no matter what but I won’t.” Q sighed and his hand stopped so it was merely cradling his love’s head instead of making small circular patterns in what little hair was still clinging to Picard’s chrome dome. “Yes, you will find out eventually. But, eventually isn’t right now and if I told you now then I don’t know if you’d want to stick around until whenever eventually is.”

Picard scoffed, “I hardly think your surname would have much sway in my decision to stay with you. What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Picard leaned his head back to look at Q, a sly grin on his face at being able to work in another reference to his favorite bard.

Q snickered and finally conceded, “Oh, alright. But I’ll only tell you if you promise that from this point on you won’t quote your other lover while we’re in bed together. At least try to stay away from _Romeo and Juliet_. I mean, the play where two lovers kill themselves? Really Jean-Luc?”

“Very well, I promise to try to be less of an English snob in the future. Now,” Picard slid a bit further up the bed so he and Q were eye to eye, “I believe you still need to tell me your name. A name that I’m sure will be just as endearing as those big brown eyes of yours.”

Q searched Picard’s eyes. “I’m doomed, aren’t I? You’ve only known me a few weeks and you already know all the right buttons to press so I’ll bend to your will.”

“You’re stalling.”

“Oh, fine! It’s Qasim [Qazi](it%20means%20Judge%20in%20Arabic). That’s my full name, okay? I’m having a sale on names today, two for the price of one. Count yourself lucky.” After making this confession Q looked down toward Picard’s chest, not having it in him to meet the other man’s gaze but also not wanting Jean-Luc to think he was giving the cold shoulder. It was rather hard to accomplish both goals when in such close proximity to his love’s face.

Picard gently lifted Q’s chin so that he would have to meet those hazel nebulas. “You were worried I would abandon you because you have Arab heritage? I know the media and public haven’t been kind but you must also realize I’m not a man who holds prejudice in his heart. I mean, Q – _Qasim_ , I make a living off of examining and teaching about cultures all over the world. The strongest emotion I bear toward the Middle East, in general, is a pure love of their oral tradition and calligraphy. I even have a copy of the Qur’an in my collection of antique books. You never had anything to worry about. You see that now, right?”

“Well, I suppose now it’s my turn to feel utterly foolish.” He let out a small chuckle out and gazed more earnestly into those cosmic dust clouds. “I suppose I always knew it would be rather ironic for you to be prejudice considering your line of work. I just find it hard to trust almost anyone nowadays. I used to only use the nickname Q in gay bars and other places I didn’t want to have some discussion of religion and morals. If anyone asked what it stood for I’d just say ‘it stands for queer’ and that was that. But for years now I’ve been scared to use my real name at all. It must have taken at least a month for Data to pry all this out of me and that’s his job! Admittedly I was also on a downswing when I first came to him and didn’t want to talk much at all but still! It’s been so frightening. When the attacks happened I was beyond glad I’d long been divorced from America and that France openly opposed those wars but then the world kept getting smaller and smaller and then it was all happening right here and in Paris. I hear the dignified posturing of politicians saying their people will recover and not fight hate with hate but I know that’s just talk from the top and the little people take everything personally and I’ve never felt so unsafe here before in my entire life. I came here and felt almost insulated from the judgment and homophobia I always felt in the form of eyes burning into my skin as I walked down the street or opened my mouth only for them to hear that cloyingly stereotypical voice. I’ve never been ashamed of who I am and who I love but I’ve been terrified of everyone else’s wrath my entire life. I know I look just as French as the next man with my dark eyes and dark hair and that my American accent would throw most people off my trail but everyone is so jumpy and the second I walk out of a mosque or I pull out my wallet and someone sees my ID and they see my name I’ve just opened a deadly can of worms. Why do there even have to be such extremist? Why? Islam is peaceful it’s haram to kill others or yourself or be horrid to others in general because every single atom of this universe has some small part of God in it and why don’t they get that? Why don’t they get that by killing even people of other faiths or no faith they’re still taking out pieces of God? I just, I don’t – I can’t, I –.”  

And it was in that moment, when Q’s mile-a-minute train of thought started to stall from distress, that Picard put a finger against his lips as he had before. “Shhhh. You’re safe here. I know it’s horrid out there but in here you’re safe. Just try to calm down. I have you.” He removed the finger from Q’s lips to fully encircled Q in his arms, tightening his grip on the man to bring him closer. “You’re safe here in my arms.”

“I know,” was all he got out before lapsing into a few hiccupping sobs that became a downpour of tears which put Picard’s earlier breakdown to shame.

“Oh, Qasim.” Jean-Luc held him even closer and Q buried his face into the crook of Picard’s neck. “Just let it all out.” He rubbed Q’s back, trying to calm him down without much success.

Where Picard’s bout of crying had been steady and long-suffering, Q’s had been violently short lived. In a few minutes the storm had passed, leaving in its wake a sniveling and sullen Q. He weakly whispered, “Sometimes I just want to move away from everyone. It wouldn’t be so bad to be one of those crazy mountain men  . . . except for the fact that I’d probably do something _really crazy_ the second I ran out of my medicine. At the very least I’d have horrible withdrawal symptoms and would then die of something idiotic like dehydration.” From where he rested his face on Picard’s shoulder he could not see the other man’s countenance but assumed his balding partner must have looked about as stepped-on as he felt.

And yet, when Jean-Luc spoke, the wary yet optimistic tenor of his voice made Q assume otherwise. “I know the feeling all too well, Qasim. And, because I obviously won’t condone any wilderness trek you undergo alone, I do have a suggestion that is not so dangerous but may still give you peace of mind.”

“And what might _that_ be?”

“Well, my family owns a vineyard some ways to the southeast in La Barre. The area isn’t _unpopulated_ but it is obviously much more sparsely populated than Paris is. And, the landscape is quite picturesque.”

Q drew his head up so he could properly address Picard, “Your family? Jean-Luc Picard, are you taking me home to meet your mother?” He impishly grinned at his own implication of a rather sophomoric gesture.

“I wish. Maman was a lovely woman who encouraged my every enterprise. Though, I’m quite sure she would have been quietly resigned in disliking you. You have the habit of coming off as rather mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” He squinted, scrutinizing Q’s face. “You even bear a striking resemblance to him.”

Q bluntly pointed out, “Minus the club foot.” His eyebrows knitted together in mock confusion. “Besides, what is it with you and English bisexuals? First the Bard and now Byron? I only wish you would find it in your heart to quote Freddie Mercury to me in bed. It wouldn’t kill you to say ‘[I was born to love you with every single beat of my heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNhhAEupU4g)’ now would it?”

Picard considered it momentarily before magnanimously deciding, “I’ll quote him at the wedding if you quote Shakespeare.”

“All this talk of our wedding and yet I see no ring on my finger. Really, you can’t trick me so easily, Johnny.” He thumbed his nose, a big self-satisfied smirk plastered across his jaw.

“Oh, give me a serious answer you fool. If you don’t I may be forced to start quoting _Romeo and Juliet_ again. I don’t want to but if you force me I will.”

Q clutched his chest. “My only weakness! Unsympathetic characters! You win this time, Jean-Luc. We have a deal.” Q pouted at his loss in their on-going battle of wits.

“Oh, don’t be such a sore loser. Pouting like that will only give you wrinkles . . . more wrinkles.” Mirth twinkled in his eyes at being able to finally hoist Q by his own petard.

He sighed over-dramatically, “ _Very well_. But I am only dropping my bravado because I want to look pretty for you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. Nevertheless, what do you think of my idea? Would you like me to take you out to La Barre even though I doubt my brother Robert would be terribly approving of you either?” Q silently gave the idea some serious thought, searching those green-brown celestial dust-clouds. “It wouldn’t be forever. We could just visit for a week or two. I’ve been meaning to drop in on my nephew again anyway. He’s such a precocious boy, almost like myself at that age.”

Q finally answered, “I’d love to visit some time but perhaps at a later date. No need to send me out to pasture just yet. I may be crazy but I’m not doing all that bad. Really, I could be much worse and, frankly, I hope you don’t have to see me at my worst.”

Jean-Luc almost chortled at the apparent irony of such a statement. “Not see you like that? Qasim, a few moments ago you were balling your eyes out.”

“Jean-Luc, there is a difference between crying for a few minutes and drowning in the ocean of depression. I don’t want you to see me crying over merely breaking a plate, I don’t want you to hear my constant pleas for reassurance that you don’t hate me, and I don’t want you to have to physically drag me out of bed just to have a cup of tea with you. My hopelessness and mental suffering in such a state are beyond words and, honestly, it’d just be my luck that I’d drive such a lovely man away with my unadulterated insanity.” He was stone-faced through the whole speech. He was not going to fib and say his illness was nothing to write home about. It was extremely severe at times and he was genuinely worried Picard may leave him due to such an episode.

Picard cradled his beloved’s face in his hands. “Q, if you’re willing to stick with me in spite of my anxieties I’ll stick with you in spite of your moods, no matter how bad they are.”

After the few beats it took to comprehend this, he murmured, “What did I do to ever deserve such a gem of a man?”

“You were born both crazy and cute.” Picard tilted his head up to kiss Q on the nose.

“And they say romance is dead.” Though he spoke sarcastically he exuded so much happiness all of Paris could have been lit by his bright grin.


	5. Chapter 5

Picard walked into Deanna’s office as he had any other week. He sat in a big over-stuffed chair, leaning forward over himself, elbows resting on his knees and his hands steepled together in front of him. He expectantly waited for his counselor to close the door and sit down so they could formally begin.

She seated herself and knowingly looked at him. “Well go ahead, Jean-Luc. You obviously have something you’re dying to tell me.”

He did not need any more coercion to talk and blurted out with near exuberance, “Q and I are together and it’s heavenly.”

Her face cracked into a mirthful smile. “I can’t say I’m surprised; you practically fell head over heels for the man the moment he opened his mouth. Though, I thought you didn’t want to start any kind of relationship at this point in time. You told me that you wanted to wait and heal more before you started anything.”

“You aren’t wrong. Though, I found that I wanted to wait and heal for the wrong reason. I was just scared I wouldn’t be enough for him because I can’t be intimate at this point. I wanted to wait and heal so I could be what I thought he wanted and not just for my own good. It was . . . a rather sophomoric idea.” He grimaced at how it all now seemed rather ludicrous.

“I wouldn’t say it was sophomoric. You were just worried about losing someone you love. You aren’t a mind reader and it’s not uncommon to worry about the outcome of certain decisions in life.”

He shrugged and said in a low, almost pathetic, tone, “I never doubted myself so much before. Of course, I think through consequences but I’ve hardly ever let emotion cloud my judgment. I act and then I live with whatever the outcome might be. It’s almost like what happened has made me a shell of my former self.” His voice wavered on the last words, tears pricking at his eyes.

“Jean-Luc, I think you’re being too hard on yourself. Just take a deep breath and try to relax.” He did as she instructed and then she continued, “It’s perfectly fine that you aren’t quite yourself yet. You need time. You wouldn’t be upset with yourself for breaking your leg and not being able to get around without crutches. You would just work toward the future where you don’t have a broken leg. Stop beating yourself up about what you can’t do and celebrate all that you can do. You took a big step recently. You did something you wanted to do in spite of your fears and I think you should be proud of yourself for that. At the very least, I’m proud of you.”

While she spoke he had continued to breathe deeply and absorbed all that she was saying so that he sounded nearly entirely calm when he spoke. “You’re right. And I am proud of myself. I just lose sight of it all so easily nowadays.”

“I know, it’s not always easy to keep that in mind. Just try to focus on the things that you can do and that are going well for you right now. Like your relationship with Q, he readily agreed to love you and be respectful of your boundaries, right?” She was trying to get him back to the positive mindset he had come in with.

“Yes, he was entirely understanding.” A weak smile started to fade back onto his face. “He even stressed that an emotional bond was, by far, the most important part of a relationship. He really is such a kind and gentle man.” He balanced his chin on his knuckles in a pose almost akin to The Thinker. “That was one of the things that surprised me about him. I always supposed that bravado of his would carry over into romance. I expected him to be so utterly brash and want to always whisk me off to some new museum exhibit or restaurant or play. Yet, he was completely content with just reading me some poetry and having me hold him for a spell.” A sudden twinge of regret crossed his face and he sighed, “Oh, I don’t know. Do you think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew? I can hardly imagine why I’ve been able to open myself up to him so much. I’m usually such a private man. When I’m with him going on about myself feels so natural, but in retrospect, it almost frightens me how easily I carry on around him.”

“Jean-Luc, I don’t think you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. I think you should try to stop over-analyzing your own actions and just let things take their course. If something feels natural in the moment then don’t be afraid to carry through with it. Besides, every relationship is only as good as the communication between both parties. I think you should just embrace the inherent trust you have for Q and I’m sure he’ll return that trust in kind.” She punctuated her advice with a small smile of reassurance.

Picard nodded in ascension. “Yes, that is true. It’s not even as if he doesn’t already trust me. I just keep over-analyzing myself as you said.”

“Yes, and try not to be so hard on yourself. Be as compassionate toward yourself as you would be to another.”

“Of course.”


	6. Chapter 6

Another therapy session having come and gone, Q and Picard had set out for the former’s apartment, trying to introduce a bit of variety in where they took their tea. Q’s residence was further from the city center than Picard’s was. The building itself looked much more run-down than where Jean-Luc lived. Needless to say, Q had a bubbling anxiety in the pit of his stomach that was fueled by self-consciousness. As they climbed the stairs together (the elevator was currently out of order), Q tried to negate his acute anxiety by assuring, “I know these drab halls really aren’t much to look at but I promise I’ve made my place look quite homey and very lovely.”

Jean-Luc chuckled to himself and replied, “I expected nothing less from someone as gay and style oriented as you.”

He tittered with laughter at his partner pointing out the obvious he’d been too nervous to joke about himself. “Too true, mon amour.” When they finally reached the door to Q’s abode he unlocked it and held it open for Jean-Luc to go in ahead of him. As Q closed the door behind himself and relocked it, he asked, “So, am I living up to your expectations?”

Jean-Luc disregarded Q’s query at first, silently taking in the space and décor in front of him. It was studio apartment with a small nook for a kitchenette, a doorway that led into an adjacent bathroom, and the living and sleeping areas entirely blending together. The only thing separating the bed from the rest of the room was a partitioning screen comprised of dark wood and a paisley pattern across the panels. The color scheme tended toward fiery reds and yellows – a perfect match for Q’s demeanor. Picard also noticed the “homey” touches Q had mentioned, such as some scented candles placed about on different tables and dressers, a few photographs hanging in frames on the walls, a handful of book scattered across the coffee table, and a small prayer rug facing an Eastern wall.

“Well, I think it looks perfectly lov-” Picard stopped mid-sentence to jump out of his skin when he felt _something_ rub up against the back of his legs. He turned around and heaved a sigh of relief when he saw it was merely an affectionate black and white cat.

“I’m so sorry he frightened you like that, Jean-Luc. I really should have mentioned Junior before. My deepest apologies, mon chéri.” He knelt down and wagged his finger to firmly tell the cat, “That was very rude of you to sneak up on papa’s boyfriend like that. No more treats until tomorrow, you little scamp.” The cat batted Q’s hand and meowed as if in protest to being punished so. “Don’t take that tone with me, young man. Just go run along and play with your toys while I slave over a lukewarm can of cat food so at least someone here can have dinner. Okay, Q Junior?” The cat meowed more kindly this time and flopped down on the ground to roll onto his back.

Noticing a heart-shaped patch of white fur on Q Junior’s stomach, Picard commented, “That’s quite an unusual marking he has.”

“Oh, believe me, I know. It matches his personality. He can give me quite the attitude sometimes but he’s mostly just very affectionate.” As Q started to prepare his cat’s dinner in the small kitchenette he explained, “You know, it was Data’s idea to get a cat. I always came to him buried under heaps of depression and loneliness and he insisted a cat would be a good solution. He thought a cat would be both loving and motivational.”

“Motivational?”

He matter-of-factly stated, “Of course. When I’m depressed I lack the motivation to do much else other than lie in bed all day long. Even merely getting up to eat something seems like a chore. But, I would never let Junior here go without food. If I didn’t get out of bed to feed him food the poor dear would surely starve to death. But, I could never let that happen so I’m always motivated to at least get up and feed him And if I’m up I might as well make something for myself to eat too. It just leads me down a path of self-care so it’s a win-win for the both of us.” He walked away from the kitchen counter and set down a fresh bowl of cat food and a fresh bowl of water for Q Junior to dig into.

“That really is quite ingenious, color me impressed.” As he watches the small tuxedo cat happily eat his dinner he commented, “I am actually rather fond of cats. They always seemed so independent and intelligent.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised. You remind me of a cat at times.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, you remind me of a Sphynx – one of those hairless cats.”

He sarcastically jeered, “Oh har har.”

“What? I think the hairless cats are very cute and I happen to think you’re very cute as well. The fact you’re both bald is just a coincidence.” He smirked at Picard, the jocularity of his remark glinting in his eyes.

“Oh, hush up.”

“Your wish is my command.”

. . .

After the traditional round of tea and yet more cheeky banter, they snuggled up together in Q’s bed. Q was comfortably nestled into Jean-Luc’s chest. Picard stroked the shock of curly dark hair before him and absentmindedly asked, “Qasim, what do you do for a living?”

“I’d like to say that I’m an actor but people in this city rarely ever find it in their hearts to give me any work. So, for now, I’m mostly just the secretary to that one mosque over by the river, and no, I don’t mean the _[Grande Mosquée de Paris](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_Mosque_of_Paris)._ I probably wouldn’t be living in this place if I worked for them.”

“I would assume so considering they draw in a lot of tourists.” He continued to languidly stroke Q’s hair and more or less think aloud, “I never really pictured you in secretarial work. You seem more like a person who scorns organizational systems rather than one who implements them.”

Q let out a rich chortle at the thought. “You’re certainly not wrong, mon amour. When I’m in a more careless mindset I have been called kin to chaos, or at least that’s what they nicknamed me in the gay community. It wasn’t even for a terribly funny reason either. It was just because even if I was having a one night stand I would get up before him and make a royal mess of the kitchen trying to whip us up breakfast. You can probably guess how they tended to take that.”

He let out a deep belly-laugh. “I know how I’d feel if you crept into my kitchen in the wee hours of the morning to devastate the place in search of bread and eggs.”

“Just be glad you didn’t know me into my kin to chaos years. Decimating people’s kitchens was on the tame side of what I often did. I sadly had some rather . . . self-destructive tendencies.” He twitched. The mere thought of those years had made a chill run up his spine.

He rubbed Q’s back and held him closer. “I’m just glad that you aren’t nearly so bad off anymore and that you made it through the rough spots in your life. You really are quite precious, Qasim.”

He sighed. “Yes, I know. I try to always remind myself of that.”

“And when you forget to remind yourself it’s my job to remind you. I don’t love you just because you’re a pretty face you know.” Picard loosened his grip on his partner to lean back a bit and get a good look at said pretty face.

Q looked up into those vast hazel nebula eyes and sighed with content. “You always know what to say. I would be lost without you.”

“And I too would be lost without you.” He kissed Q on the forehead and held him close again.

“I love you.”

“I know and I love you too.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: mention of Islamaphobia and non-graphic description of a physical attack.

A few weeks later Jean-Luc was rather surprised when Q unexpectedly came to his door. Q looked awful. His shirt was torn, his hair in disarray, and a shiner of a black eye was appearing on his face. “Dear lord, what happened to you?” Q pushed past Jean-Luc into the apartment in lieu of an answer. He wordlessly went to the kitchen and got an ice pack to put on his face. He sat down at the table and just silently held the icepack against his bruised face. Picard gently sat down across from him and tried again to figure out what had happened. “Q, please tell me what happened. Who did this to you?”

He used his one good eye to stare and focus on Picard for a moment. “He attacked me as I was coming out of the mosque where I work. He punched me. He tried to strangle me with my own shirt collar. He called me a terrorist. I broke free somehow. I kicked him where the sun doesn’t shine and I _ran_.”

He tightly held Q’s hand, hoping to bring some comfort to him. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Qasim. Is there anything I can do for you? Would you like some kind of pain killer? A cup of hot tea? An escort back to your own apartment?”

He sighed, his gaze refocusing on their hands twined together on the table. “I would like to not be here in this city. I would like to not be hated. I would like to just live and be loved.” On the last word his voice cracked and then came a hurricane of sorrow with sobs so strong it shook the table.

. . .

After that night Picard had decided it would be in their best interests to get away from the city. Data would look after Q’s cat and he was able to complete a whole lesson plan for his aid at the college to follow. There was nothing to worry about while they were gone. He had checked twice that Q packed all of his medicines because, if anything, he needed them most now. After being attacked Q had been so uncharacteristically sullen and lethargic. On the entire bus ride out to the country Q had slept. He held onto Jean-Luc’s arm, laid his head on the other man’s shoulder, and just slept. Picard did not mind this in the least but, he was still worried.

After stepping off the bus Jean-Luc led Q along the hilly roads of his hometown, so comforted by old sights and sounds. The still quietude of stretches of the road only met on either side by greenery rather than the constructs of man were especially grounding. He confidently strolled forward with Q clinging to his bicep almost as if their roles from that first “date” had been reversed. Q was very quiet. Unusually quiet for a man more often than not so very animated and forthright. Every now and then Jean-Luc tried to coax words out of him by commenting on some lovely feature of flora and fauna or by supplying some historical tidbit off the top of his head. Q never really had much in the way of a response other than handfuls of unsure words or a one-word agreement to what Picard had said. After a while he just let Q be so they could hopefully both enjoy the beauty of solitude and nature in companionable silence.

. . .

For several days after reaching Chateau Picard, Q was just as reticent as he had been on the trip over. However, one morning Picard awoke just before dawn. In the hazy grey light of dusk, he could see Q standing by the window. It was raining outside, a beating pitter-patter as the background noise to the burgeoning morning. Q opened the window and gazed up into the sky. He stared at the ominous clouds above and then scanned over the water-logged land before him. He held out a hand and then his whole arm for raindrops to splash down upon his skin. A sensation of life. A sensation of Earth. A sensation of normality.

Eventually, he pulled his arm back into the artificial dryness of the house, and sighed. Without turning to look at his partner he merely said, “I’ve been worrying you.”

Jean-Luc sat up in bed and tried to compose his mind at such an early hour. “How did you know I was awake?”

Q closed the window and then turned toward the bed. “You sleep very lightly. You’d wake up if a soft breeze blew past you. So I obviously woke you up when I got out of bed.”

“Why are you up so early?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I woke up half an hour ago and haven’t been able to sleep since. I’ve been thinking too much. Also, you avoided what I said.” Q slumped down into an armchair, deflated and tried from just existing.

Jean-Luc scooted closer to the other side of the bed and thus closer to Q. “You’re right. Of course I’m worried. Who wouldn’t be worried when a man once overflowing with words becomes nearly non-verbal? But I let you be. I know I can’t _fix_ this. I can’t magically make you any less depressed. I can only help you get through it.  I can hold your hand as you walk through the darkness but I can’t turn darkness to light. I wish I did have that power but I don’t.”

“The darkness brings loneliness by default; others may be close, but you have no sight . . . . I should have written something about how you can still feel someone hold your hand and guide you. Darkness has never negated the sense of touch.”

He compelled Q, a slight quaver in his voice, “Write another poem about that part, Qasim. When the rain stops, go out into one of the fields with a pad of paper. Just write. Write it all down. Get your thoughts out because I know you haven’t been speaking for lack of any feelings.”

His face twitched into a tight-lipped visage of wariness. “Check inside my pillow case.” Jean-Luc was unsure what he would find there and almost worried until he reached in the pillow case and found a journal there. “I have been writing. Most of it is just, ‘Dear Diary, Jean-Luc is such a dashing and sweet man I hope I live long enough to marry him so that we can have twenty cats together.’”

He had been staring at the cover of the journal, a red cover that had a black paisley pattern in relief against it. He looked back up at Q and mock-commanded, “You better stay alive so we can at least get married. I’ll need widow’s benefits so I can feed those twenty lovely cats of ours.”

Q could almost laugh at the deadpan delivery of such a statement. “Only if at least one of the cats can be a sphynx so it looks as cute as you.”

“Only if you promise not to name any more cats Q Junior.”

“Deal.” A smile cracked across his face and a small giggle bubbled out at the absurdness of what was being said. “What are we even saying?”

Jean-Luc grinned from ear to ear at finally seeing Q smile and laugh for the first time in what felt like years. “I can’t really tell but I think you should come back to bed before we somehow end up walking off to actually buy twenty cats.”

“Alright. I can agree to that for the moment.” He got up and laid back down with Picard.

Jean-Luc held Q close and asked, “Do you know that I was born to love you with every single beat of my heart?”

Q was speechless at first and then almost tearing up at that words he had just heard. “Yes, I did.”

“Did you also know that I was born to take care of you every single day of my life?”

It was then he did actually break down crying out of happiness. “You’re such a sweet man.” Maybe Jean-Luc quoting a song should not have moved Q like this but he had always idolized Freddie Mercury and it was touching to hear Picard quote a song just for him.

“What can I say? You bring out the best in me.” He wiped the tears off of Q’s face with the cuff of his pajama sleeve.

“We bring out the best in each other.” He cried a moment longer before managing to stop so he could conclude, “We have a lot of darkness in front of us but we’re not alone in it anymore,” he held one of Jean-Luc’s hands in his, “because we have each other. We’re both trapped here so we’ll make it more bearable for each other. When I lose sight of the light ahead you’ll remind me and I’ll do the same for you.” Jean-Luc kissed him long and sweetly on the lips, so deeply in love at that moment he had no words to articulate his feelings so he acted them out instead.

They may never make it out of the shadow mental illness casts but they would never be alone in that shadow ever again.


End file.
